Harry Potter and Merlin's Staff
by MisterInvalid
Summary: Harry's abuse at the hand of his relatives is MUCH more intense than in canon. Why is this happening to him? How will he escape? Rated M for intense descriptions of abuse, violence, and language. Overhaul of magic inbound.
1. Abuse

**Do I own Harry Potter? I don't think so, but if I do please tell me, that'd be awesome.**

**A/N Hi. This will be my first attempt at writing a fanfiction, and I'm just a 16 year old high school student who barely scrapes by in classes. As such, it will probably not be as good as the veteran's work, although I hope to get there someday. I appreciate any criticism, so if you think this fic is terrible, please tell me why.**

**I'm an avid reader of fanfictions, which is the main reason I'm doing this. I want to contribute to the wonderful community that has taken so many dozens of hours from my life. Some of my favorites are A Second Chance At Life(The entire trilogy), The Harem Wars, The Founder's Heir, and more whose titles escape me. If you haven't, I suggest reading them before reading this fic, as they are all very high quality, and in all likelihood miles ahead of what this fic will be.**

**So, on to my plans. You may have noticed a trend in the fanfictions listed above. I like Super-Harry fics. As such, this will be (Later on, I don't plan on Harry waking up on his 11****th**** birthday ready to face the evils of the world) a fic where Harry has powers greater than (Most of) those around him. Of course, this means the villains will be equally, if not more so, powered.**

***Don't read past here if you don't want minor spoilers on my plans***

**Yes, this will be an evil Dumbledore fic, although this Dumbledore will be considerably darker than any I've seen before.**

**I will be doing an overhaul of sorts on magic. Yes, there will still be wands, spoken spells, and all that jazz, only it won't be all the magic used. I'll go more in depth on that when the time comes, wouldn't want to give away all my ideas at the start, would I? ;)**

**Thank you for reading this far, and please give me criticisms on anything you think need improvement.**

**Enough of this blabber, Let the story begin.**

A young, scrawny boy awoke on a small, ragged bed. Well, bed might be a bit too kind of a term for it, as it was actually just a few old and torn blankets piled in a heap. The boy ran a hand through his hair, which was as dark as the plumage of a raven. The boy, whose name was either 'Freak', 'Bastard', or 'Boy', depending on his uncle's mood, stretched out his arms and immediately winced in pain. The beatings (If you could call them that as what his uncle did was more akin to torture) from yesterday still hurt, although much less than when they were inflicted.

Freak thought back to yesterday, when a stupid misstep of his caused yet another of his uncle's savage beatings. It had been even worse than usual, although at least his aunt had not helped this time. While his uncle inflicted the most pain out of the people in his 'Family', at least he was predictable. A few broken bones, dozens of bruises, perhaps a bit of internal bleeding, it was always the same. While some days (Like yesterday, when his uncle dislocated his shoulder) he varied things up a bit, his aunt was a wild card. She enjoyed knives, sticks, forks, anything sharp or pointy really. While she did not participate often, when she did, it was always especially bad. Freak shuddered as he remembered the time when his Aunt decided to poke his eyes out with the short end of an old spoon. His eyesight had never been quite the same after that.

True, his aunt was not always that bad, but when she got involved he usually lost an appendage or two. Freak usually kept his head down and crept quietly around Number Four, Privet Drive, hoping to not be noticed by either his aunt or his uncle. Of course, when they noticed him they beat or otherwise maimed him. The worst part was that by the morning, his wounds were usually all perfectly healed (Except for really severe injuries like an eye poked out or an appendage cut off, those took a bit longer.) which only served to infuriate his relatives further.

Freak sighed and looked around the room, which was actually just a small cupboard with barely enough room to stand in. It wouldn't be enough room for an adult, or even an average 10-year-old, but because of how sparsely he was fed, he was short for his age, standing a meager 3'8. The cupboard used to have more headroom, but his uncle had decided that it was bad for a child to have so much space, so he nailed a board that cut off nearly a third of the headroom. Not that Freak minded, as the time that his uncle spent putting up a board was not time spent with his favorite nephew.

Again Freak sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his muddy green eyes. His eyes used to be green, he remembered, but when his aunt had discovered her love of all things that poke they had changed to be almost more of a dark, diluted red than green, possibly a side effect of them being regrown so much.

Freak knew today would be a bad day. When he was young, and still allowed to go to school, he learned how many days were in a year. 365, or 365.25 to be exact, which resulted in a leap year every 4 years, Freak thought with a small smile. He had made a sort of calendar, based off the one he remembered from school, under his bed. Since he usually woke before his relatives, he had time to quickly scratch out a day with an old nail he had found buried in the garden. Today was the day he dreaded most, ever since he was 8. Today was Dudley's 2nd birthday since the incident.

Dudley had been an oddity to Freak. He neither hit Freak nor cut him, in fact the most Dudley had ever done to him was hurl insults, and even then it was just to satisfy his parent's need for Freak to feel pain. Dudley had even gone so far as to slip him food on occasion, something that Freak was wary of at first, fearing a trap, but eventually accepted with a cautious gratitude.

Dudley had been the only person who Freak would have considered a friend. When Dudley's parents started to get violent on his seventh birthday (Before that it had been purely verbal, no matter how mad they got it was like something stopped them from inflicting physical harm) Dudley was the one who helped him, bandaged his wounds, and stayed with him while his injuries slowly healed. It had been Dudley who, in an act that Freak would always appreciate, had reported the abuse to the principal of the school he went to.

At first, much to Dudley's dismay, no one would believe that upstanding citizens like Petunia and Vernon Dursley could ever commit the atrocities that Dudley described. In fact, no one had anything but a vague recollection of the cousin that Dudley described. (Freak had been pulled from school on his seventh birthday) They knew there was a boy, and he had gone to school some time ago, but no one could remember his face, or name. Even Dudley had trouble remembering Freak's name and usually just referred to him as 'Cousin'.

Dudley tried everything, went to the police, firemen, anyone he saw as an authority figure. They all did the same thing, patted him on the head and laughed at a child's overactive imagination. Eventually Dudley started provoking his parents, hoping that they would do to him as they did to his cousin.

For reasons neither Dudley nor Freak could understand, Petunia and Vernon were completely different people around their son. They always dotted over him, gave in to his every whim. Whenever Dudley brought up the subject of Freak, their eyes flashed with anger, and they kindly told him that Freak was not something their Diddykins should worry about, and spoke no more about it. No matter how Dudley tried, the elder Dursleys never displayed any form on hostility to their son.

Eventually Dudley realized that his efforts were useless, and that nothing would happen unless he could provide proof. After discussing the issue with his cousin, Dudley decided to provide the proof that he needed. His cousin protested, not wanting his cousin to face the same pain he faced. Dudley disregarded all protests.

At first Dudley did small things, hitting himself, falling on purpose to cause obvious bruises. These worked, to an extent, but it was not Dudley was going for. He wanted both him and his cousin taken away from this awful place. It was this hope, that they could get somewhere better, that caused Dudley to pull what Freak thought was the single most stupid thing he had ever experienced.

Dudley decided to jump off of the roof of the house.

He did this at night, where he was sure no one could see what actually happened. Of course, Dudley only wanted to do this once, so he decided to jump head first.

This was the last time Freak ever saw Dudley Dursley.

Dudley was in a coma for over a month, and the doctors were not sure he would make it. His parents were distraught, and of course took out their frustration out on Freak. Freak thought he suffered more bones broken, fractured, or otherwise disabled during that month than he had in all the time since his 7th birthday. It was also the first time his aunt had participated in the beatings, and subsequently discovered her love of all things sharp or pointy.

When Dudley awoke it was the happiest Freak could ever remember feeling before. The feeling was shared by Petunia and Vernon, and they immediately rushed over to the hospital. Unfortunately for them, they weren't the only ones going to that particular hospital.

As soon as the Dursleys arrived at the hospital, they were apprehended by a policeman on charges of child abuse. Dudley had achieved his goal, and he would soon be taken away to live in a foster home.

The case against the Dursleys seemed easy, a clear cut instance of child abuse, complete with a testimony from the child. The case proceeded normally, and everything seemed to be in order. There were only two oddities with the case. One was the fact that the child who was abused continually testified that there was another child, despite no records showing so. These testimonies stopped after the boy met with an attorney, and the other child was mentioned no more.

The second oddity was the sentence. One would assume that a case like this would involve jail time, but somehow the Dursleys got off with a stiff fine, and having Dudley put into a foster home. The entire incident wasn't even talked about, despite much more minor issues were talked about for days by the housewives of Privet Drive.

Life proceeded like normal for the residents of Privet Drive, minus one small boy who seemed to be pushed to the brink of death daily. Not many noticed the disappearance of Dudly Dursely, and those who did didn't seem to care.

And today was the day the Durselys remembered the loss of their son, and took out their grief on Freak, of course. The 23rd of June was not a good day to be Freak.

Freak sighed yet again, slowly getting up. His shoulder hurt like hell, and was not fully recovered from his uncle's work. Of course, he hurt all over, but pain on that level didn't bother Freak, after all he had been through.

Freak got and silently opened the cupboard door, trying not to wake his aunt or uncle. He hoped to do his chores quietly and be able to slink quietly, unnoticed into the darkness of his cupboard, where he would stay until the day was done. He had no such luck.

As he glided into the kitchen, he noticed something odd. The living room light was on. Freak knew that he would be blamed for wasting electricity if his relatives found out, so he went to turn it off. What he saw next would forever be burned into his mind, and Freak would consider it the scariest scene imaginable for many years.

His uncle was sitting in the love chair. His eyes were wide, and locked on Freak. In his hand was something that struck fear into Freak's heart. In his hand was a can of cheap beer, and was surrounded by empty bottles and cans.

Freak's uncle did not drink much, but when he did it was never good.

Freak remembered four times when his uncle drank. The first was when he was six, and his uncle had been fired from his job for sexually harassing an intern. This was before the physical violence started, so the abuse was purely verbal. That's not to say it was easy. All manner of horrid things were said to Freak, who had been huddled in a ball crying for the majority of it. His uncle had said that Freak's mother was an STD ridden harlot who would fuck anything with a pulse if there was money in it for her, and that the only reason she didn't abort him was that she hoped to get some of his father's money. His father wasn't called much better, apparently he was the heir of a considerable family fortune, but since he was a no good layabout he spent it all on gambling, whores, booze, and drugs. His uncle had said that his father with a needle in his arm, in a cheap apartment, the only place he could afford to live after spending his family's fortune.

That was not all that was said, but it is what hurt Freak the most. Was it true? Did his parents truly not want him; did he deserve to be called all these awful things by his uncle?

The second and third time his uncle was caught drinking was after his uncle lost particularly bad in gambling. Freak would later wonder how his uncle got the money to gamble, as his uncle still had not gotten a job after being fired. Both of these times were after his 7th birthday, and each time Freak was beaten within an inch of his life. Each incident took over a week for Freak to be able to move again, and worse was that they happened only two weeks from each other, leaving little time to recover fully.

The fourth was the day after Dudley jumped from the roof. This one was by far the worst, taking over a month for a full recovery. Vernon decided that since his son had to fall from the roof, so should Freak. And so he picked Freak up, climbed to the roof of his house , and threw Freak downward with all the force he could muster. Vernon repeated this process three more times, although Freak had fainted by the second one.

Remembering these incidents, Freak dropped his eyes to the ground and tried to walk off.

"Boy." Vernon was a large man, with a deep voice to match. It was a voice Freak had come to dread, as it always brought with it pain.

"Come here; come see your old uncle. Come now, I won't bite!" Freak's uncle laughed loudly and drunkenly. He motioned for Freak to take the seat next to him.

Freak was wary; his uncle had never behaved like this before, even when drunk. Freak warily walked towards his uncle and took the seat next to him, his entire body tense.

"Now boy, don't look so scared now! It's just your old" Vernon burped loudly "uncle! And you're my son now, ain't ya!"

Freak look confused, his uncle was behaving too strangely, it was too weird, his uncle was supposed to be predictable, he should only beat Freak, not invite him to sit.

"You are my son, AREN'T YA!?" Vernon's voice rose to a deafening level as he shouted the last words, his face getting red.

Freak gave a small nod; His uncle shouldn't do this, he should hit Freak, not talk to him, refer to him as a son.

Vernon looked pleased with the nod and leaned back into his chair, chuckling softly.

"Yes son, ever since poor Dudley left us you're the boy of the house now, we should pamper ya, shouldn't we?" When Vernon didn't get an answer he screamed at the top of his lungs "SHOULDN' WE!"

Freak again gave a small nod, noticing the slurring of his uncle's words getting more and more intense.

"Boy, ya got a tongue, dontcha? Or do I need ta come over there an teac' ya'!?"

Freak gave a small shudder and said as quietly as he could "Yes sir."

Vernon got up and stood over Freak, put his pudgy hand to his ear, indication that he couldn't hear.

"Yes Sir." Freak again said, a bit louder.

Again Vernon held his hand to his ear, with his spare hand grabbing a discarded bottle of beer, and brandished it menacingly at Freak.

"Yes Sir!" Freak yelled in a panicked voice.

Vernon started chuckling, a hearty chuckle that seemed to come from the depths of his stomach. Soon the chuckles turned to outright laughter, causing him to lean over, gasping for breath.

Vernon suddenly looked up, still laughing. He locked eyes with Freak. The last thing Freak saw before his world became a blur of pain was an insane glint in those cold brown eyes.

Vernon, quick as a snake, smashed the bottle against Freak's temple, and dragged him to the ground. Vernon got on top of him and started stabbing at him with the broken bottle.

"THINK YERE MY SON, EH!? NO! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED DUDLEY!" Vernon roared, his face going purple in his rage. He continued hitting Freak for a minute before forcing open Freak's mouth.

"THINK YEW CAN TELL ME YER MY SON!? THINK YEW CAN TRICK ME!? I'LL FIX THAT!" Vernon screamed, and reached as far as his pudgy hand could into Freak's mouth, and got a firm grip on his tongue, stabbing his fingernails into the soft flesh.

"I'LL FIX YA! I'LL FIX YA!" Vernon continued to scream, while pulling at the tongue with all his strength.

Freak was in pain, the worst pain he had ever felt. His face felt as if it was on fire, with pieces of glass imbedded in his face and eyes, his back burning from being forced down on more glass, and the worst being the ripping of his tongue. Before he had simply passed out, yet this time his body rebelled, forcing him to feel every detail of his torture.

Freak felt something welling up inside him, something coming out. With a surge his uncle flew off of him, crashing into the ceiling and then down to the floor next to Freak.

Without thinking Freak did something he had never done before, he ran. He had to leave this place, these people, the ones who hurt him so much, who had taken his only friend from him. He ran, wrenched open the door and ran outside. The cool night air burned on his bloody face, and he ran.

Or would have run. Freak got to the mailbox, the boundary of the property, and faltered. Why was he doing this, Vernon would find him, he always found him. Running will only make it worse, he should go back, go back and hope that his uncle will not be too harsh. Yes, running would be bad, he thought as he stopped. Freak turned around and saw a large figure in the doorway.

Vernon was in the doorway, huffing and puffing, bleeding everywhere. In his hands was the shotgun that Vernon always kept under the counter in the kitchen.

Time seemed to slow. Vernon looked at Freak with an insane look in his eyes. Freak saw the eye twitch, the muscle pull that indicated Vernon was pulling the trigger. He heard the click, then the roar of gunfire. He saw the pellets moving towards him at a seemingly lazy place, and saw them impact his torso.

After that, Freak saw no more.

**A/N My first chapter of my first fic. Yay.**

**The rest of the fic won't be quite as gruesome as this, and all will be explained next chapter.**

**I'm not really happy with the legal section, and have no clue how law works in UK, so I based it off my knowledge of US courts.**

**Thanks for reading my first fic, next chapter will come out soon.**


	2. Revelation

**I don't own or write Harry Potter, I'm much too lazy to do that.**

**A/N Chapter two, I hope to explain most of the stuff that has happened to Harry so far.**  
**Again, please tell me ANY criticisms you have, I really want to get better at writing, and the only way I can do that is to know what I'm doing wrong.**

**A/N after A/N I deleted this fic about two weeks ago, because I thought it wasn't good/no one would like it/I didn't think I could execute my ideas well. I've decided to continue and view this fic as something that probably won't be good, but it will help me get better**.

Harry felt good. Better than good, he felt ecstatic, better than he could remember feeling in ages. He opened his eyes, seeing a vast blue sky above him. As he looked around he realized that he was in the middle of a huge meadow, with grass and flowers everywhere. The meadow extended as far as the eye could see.

The only distinguishing feature of this place was a large tree, rising majestically in the distance. As Harry looked towards the tree, he could make out 2 figures, sitting under it. He ran towards those figures, feeling a strange longing to sit with them, talk with them, be with them. As he got closer the figures rose, and moved towards him. He could make out a head of fiery red hair on the one on the left, a woman, he could now see.

He ran even faster, the longing to be with these people becoming unbearable. Now he could make out the other person, who he determined was a man. The man was tall, Harry thought about 6'1, but Harry really had nothing to compare the man to, so he may be off.

Suddenly a strange energy ran through Harry, as if someone was pushing him forward, making his body move faster than Harry had ever gone before. He was mere feet away from the people now, able to see the woman's kind face and emerald eyes, and the man's dark brown hair and circular glasses. They were holding out their arms, as if welcoming him into an embrace.

'You will do.' A voice, seeming to come from the land itself, filled Harry's mind. It was not something Harry heard so much as something he thought, a thought invading his mind. The voice was odd, it was calming in a way, and Harry could feel a fierce spark of intelligence coming from it.

Harry disregarded the voice, he was close, so close to these people, people who welcome him so warmly, who he knew would never hit him, who he could be happy with.

'I'm sorry, young one, it is not yet your time.'

Harry screamed, he felt himself being pulled away from the happiness, back into the body where he would be hit, cut, and hurt in every manner imaginable. Harry tried to fight, fight with everything he had, but it was no use. Harry felt a sharp tug, and then everything went black.

Freak awoke to a burning pain in his chest. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness above him. He was in the cupboard again, Vernon must have brought him back in after… Freak shuddered, remembering the feeling of numerous pellets impaling his chest. Remembering the wound, Freak looked down to his chest. It hurt to move, but Freak pushed through the pain, he had to see the damage. This was the first time anyone had ever shot him, and it was not an experience that Freak would want to have again.

As Freak looked down on his bare chest, he gasped. Freak's chest was covered in a layer of dried blood. It was more blood than Freak had ever seen before, and that was saying something.

Freak slowly reached down, ignoring the pain in his chest, and tried to remove some of the blood. It was like peeling a scab, only this scab hurt like hell and covered his entire chest. Slowly the blood gave, and eventually Freak could see a layer of pale white skin underneath it. Freak sighed again, he was usually tan from all his work in the garden, but every time his relatives forced skin to grow back it was always pale as snow.

As Freak ripped off more blood, he saw the scars left by the buckshot. It didn't really matter to Freak, just another to add into his twisted collection. It seemed the only place on him that was not horribly scarred (There were a few, just not as many as the rest of his body) was his face. The only one that was anything other than a short line was the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

If Freak cared about looks, he would wish that whatever healed him also took away the scars. It couldn't be that hard, for whatever this did brought him back from the brink of death more times than he could count!

Freak's thought were interrupted by a growl from his stomach. He was hungry, hungrier than he had ever felt before. Sure, the Dursleys had starved him out, but they usually only starved him for three days, at worst five. Other than that he was give a piece of old bread per day (The Dursleys had a cabinet dedicated to leaving pieces of bread out to get stale, just for Freak) or whatever he could steal from the kitchens. While he didn't steal much, mainly because the last time he was caught he had lost three 'thieving, filthy little fingers' as his aunt had called it.

He opened the cupboard door as stealthily as he could, looking around with eyes not unlike those of a trapped animal. He snuck into the kitchen, heading towards the fridge, when something caught his eye. On the counter was a single letter. Freak moved in to take a closer look. He picked up the letter, which was addressed to, in large, fancy lettering, the boy who lived in the cupboard at Number 4, Privet Drive. That was him, wasn't it? Freak was confused, he had never received mail before, and certainly never received anything as fancy as this.

Freak carefully tore open the envelope, careful to not damage it beyond tearing the top. It was the first time Freak had any sign that someone knew of him, that someone cared. Even the teachers when he went to school seemed to ignore him, only addressing him when necessary.

Freak pulled out the letter, unfolded and read it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

-Letter not written by me, It's written by, and the property of, J.K. Rowling.

Freak was confused. Who was this Mr. Potter? Why was it addressed to him? Freak's mind seemed to fight with an unseen enemy, trying to make a connection.

"Boy."

Freak jumped in fright, spinning quickly. Vernon Dursley was standing in the kitchen, watching him. Freak must have been too engrossed in his own thoughts to hear the man approach.

"So, you found it." Vernon said in a calm and somewhat vacant voice, nodding towards the letter. "That'll be the school you'll go to from now on. They are sending someone shortly to pick you up."

Freak barely had time to think about his uncle's bizarre behavior before there was a loud rap on the door. Freak heard someone open the door, presumably his aunt. Freak heard some discussion, and then loud footsteps, as if an elephant was walking through the house, coming towards him.

His aunt approached, moving robotically, and behind her was the largest man Freak had ever seen. Sometimes his aunt and uncle had guests over. Of course Freak was always locked up in his cupboard, not allowed to make a sound, but he always peered out through a small hole he had made. He saw many kinds of large people as many of the people his uncle had over were 'a bit' overweight, meaning horridly obese. Even the largest of those he had seen was only perhaps half the size of this man. The giant of a man had to crouch forward to keep his head from hitting the ceiling. Even stranger than his size, the man was looking at him. No, not looking, staring. It was odd, having a man who must be 8 feet tall, and was at least 5 feet wide. be so entranced by a scrawny 10-year-old.

"Harry? Is that you?" The large man practically yelled, although Freak thought that might just be his natural tone.

"Harry me boy! Do yeh remember me? No, no, 'course ya don'. Why, las' time I saw yeh you were jus' a babe!"

Freak was scared. This was the first time anyone had addressed him with such familiarity. And why did he call him Harry? Again Freak felt his mind struggling to remember, to reach some conclusion on this. First Mr. Potter now Harry! What was going on!?

"Ah, yeh don't know who I am, do ya? I'm Hagrid, groundskeeper of Hogwarts. I was sent here by Professor Dumbledore to pick ya up. We'll be goin' now." The large man, Hagird, turned and made for the door. Freak looked up to his uncle, who motioned quietly for Freak to follow the man.

"Thanks for ya hospitality." Hagrid said to Petunia and Vernon. Both just quietly nodded back. "Well Harry, time for us to go." Hagrid pulled out what looked to be an old shoe, and took Freak's arm. Hagrid frowned slightly when Freak flinched at the touch, but seemed to put it out of his mind. "This is a portkey, right useful things they are. This'll take us right to Diagon Alley." Seeing Freak's look of confusion, Hagrid elaborated. "Diagon alley's the place all wizards go to get the essentials. It's got everythin', a book shop, a wand shop, pet shop, even an ice cream parlor! We're goin' there to get yeh the essentials for Hogwarts." Hagrid nodded politely to Freak's aunt and uncle. "Thank yeh for yeh time, Mister an' missus." With that Hagrid, who still had a firm grip on Freak, shouted out a rather odd phrase. "Lemon Drop!" Hagrid yelled, and as soon as the words left the giant man's mouth Freak felt a horrible pain

Now Freak, of course, was used to pain. He suffered through it every day, had felt it more in his eleven years than most people had in a lifetime. Because of this he thought himself nearly immune to pain, able to shove it away into a tiny box inside his head. This pain, however, was not a pain of the body, it was more like a pain of the soul. It felt as if Freak's very being was being torn, ripped from his body. After what felt like days, but in actuality was just a few minutes, the pain started to die down.

As the pain slowly subsided, Freak felt himself lying on a wooden floor. When Freak recovered enough to look at his surroundings, he jumped back in fright. An old man was standing over him with a look of concern on his face. He started when Freak jumped back, but did not make any move other than a slight flinch.

After a few minutes of the two men, young and old, eyeing each other, the old man spoke.  
"Harry Potter. I've been expecting you, although I did not think you would make such a… grand entrance." He shot Freak a pointed look, but strangely Freak saw no malice in his gaze, only amusement. "I am Ollivander, a wandmaker. The wandmaker, many would say, as I am the only one operating commercially in Britain currently." A brief flash of what looked like pride flashed across Ollivander's face. "Now, what to do with you. Although I knew you would be here today, I was told it would be later in the day. No matter." The old man shook his head as if to get rid of troubling thoughts.

"Anyways, let us get started. I presume you need a wand?" Seeing Freak's blank look, he nodded to himself. "Yes, yes. let us start." Freak, in a sort of daze, took the oddly shaped stick that the man held out. Other than a brief flash of pain, Nothing happened. "No, no, not that one…" Olivander kept handing Freak sticks for around ten minutes, each doing nothing other than hurting Freak. Ollivander had not noticed the pain the young boy was in, as the boy had become quite adept at hiding his pain.

"Strange… Perhaps this one. This wand, Mister Potter, is a very special wand. It is made of holly, and the core is a pheonix's feather. This particular pheonix, who I assume you will meet at some point, has only given two feathers. With these feathers I made two wands, both destined for great things. If I had know what this wand's brother would do, I would have snapped it on the spot." Ollivander had a distant look in his eyes as he said this, then shook his head, refocusing himself.

"It's brother is the one that gave you that scar." Freak looked around, then looked in a nearby mirror. Which scar was the old man talking about? While the Dursleys usually avoided his face, there were still a few prevalent scars, Although Freak couldn't remember the Dursleys ever using a wand on him. "Now, Mister Potter, take this wand. I have a feeling you will do great things with it."

Freak reached out slowly, and gingerly grabbed the wand. He held it in awe for a few seconds, realizing this was his doorway into this world, away from his aunt and uncle. With this he could fight back, his relatives would not be able to touch again. With this in mind, he flicked the wand, putting all his hope into it. This was it, he was gone, he could end it all.

Nothing.

Freak's face fell. It was true, he was useless. It was just as his aunt and uncle had said.  
Ollivander slowly shook his head, muttering quietly to himself. "But Albus said… should have worked… the scar…" He quickly recovered, turning back to Freak. "Well Mister Potter, it looks like I was mistaken. Terribly sorry. Well, I guess on to more wands."

Freak and Ollivander tried wands for another couple of hours. Nothing worked, and Ollivander was getting frustrated. No one had taken this long before. Was the boy a Squib? 'No, that couldn't be it. Albus sent him here, he must be magical.' Ollivander shook his head, clearing it once again of these thoughts. "Well Mister Potter, I must say, you are quite a hard one to find a partner for. How about we try a new tactic. Follow me around back. If any wand catches your interest please tell me." With that Ollivander walked around back, with Freak following.

They searched around back for nearly fifteen minutes, still with no luck. Ollivander looked ready to pull his hair out, and Freak was decidedly nervous. When adults near him got angry it usually ended badly for Freak.

It was then that Freak felt something, a slight pull. Excited, as this seemed to be just what Ollivander had described. Freak weaved through the shelves. The pull got stronger and stronger, and soon it was unbearable. Freak needed whatever was doing this, needed it mor than he could ever remembered needing before.

Freak found himself in a secluded corner of the backrooms. It was there he saw the object he had been searching for, a plain wooden staff. The staff was about 6 feet long, with natural looking hand grips on the side. Overall, it seemed to be nothing special, except for the inexplicable draw that Freak felt to it. Hesitantly he reached out, and grasped the staff.

'FINALLY!'

The scream ripped through Freak's mind. The voice sounded like one of those American frat boys he had seen on TV when everyone was out of the house. Freak shot up looking around for whoever it was speaking.

'God damn kid, do you know how long I've been waiting here? It's been HOURS! Yeah, you know what I want to do right after a thousand years of fucking floating around? Sit in a dusty shop for hours. And stop looking around like a dumbass, I'm in your mind.'

Freak was panicking after this. A voice, in his mind? His mind was the only place he could be alone, not be hurt. And now there was a voice in here, and an obnoxious one at that.

'Ay kid fuck you! I didn't gather my trillions of fucking particles to manifest myself here to be insulted by some punk kid. You know what, I think I should jus- WOW! What the fuck kid, what's with your magic? You got none! Well, that's not true, you got a shit ton of internal, but barely any ambient. How the hell are you alive? These levels of magic should kill a person!'

Freak was confused. First he found out he was a wizard, then a huge man showed up, exactly who he thought the Dursleys would think of as a freak, yet they welcomed him in! After that the man had grabbed him, and then his insides felt like they were being pulled out from his ear. Then a old man had made him hold sticks for over two hours, and now he was being cussed at by a staff. What was going on, Frea-

'SHUT UP! God damn, I understand the need for internal monologue and all that, but you don't need to drone on for-fucking-ever! And what the hell, why are you referring to yourself as Freak? What kind of name is that? We're gonna need to get some serious self esteem uppage for you.'

Alright, that was it. Today had been hell for Freak, and now he had a voice in his mind yelling at him. 'STOP! JUST GO AWAY! I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!' Freak shouted out in his mind.

'Good! Good! Stand up for yourself! Don't let that huge guy and old guy boss you around! Take control!'

Freak was confused. He had expected to be hit for the outburst, which was a bit silly considering he was talking to himself. But, was he really? No one had ever encouraged anyth-

'WHAT! What. The. Fuck. Kid, what kind of fucked up childhood have you had? I mean, the last guy I worked with didn't have it all that good, but seriously? No one encouraged you? What the hell have I gotten myself into...'

Was Freak's own mind lecturing him? He knew that he was different, a freak, something to be hated, but he never thought himself crazy. 'If you're my mind, don't you know? Why are you asking things you know?'

'Kid, you're a bit slow on the uptake, ain't ya? I'm not your mind. I'm that staff you got there in your hand. As for why I don't know this, I think it common courtesy to not mind rape the first person I have talked to in a millenium.'

At this revelation Freak, hoping he could be rid of this madness, threw the staff as hard as he could at the wall. Upon impact the staff disappeared, bursting into a cloud of multi colored lights. Good. No more talking to himself.

'OW! The hell, kid!? Do you usually throw people into fucking walls as soon as they meet you? I mean, since I'm an embodiment of magic I can't really feel, but still. You shouldn't throw people into walls.'

Freak sighed to himself. It seemed that he wouldn't get rid of this problem that easily.

'Alright, there's only so much abuse I can take in a day. So right now you can be still, shut up, and let me look at you.'

Freak wanted to complain, but he found he was unable to move. Freak soon felt a warm presence picking around his body.

'Damn kid, maybe I underestimated you. These are some badass scars you got there, what have you been fighting, griffins? Maybe I was wrong, if you can fight whatever gave you those scars you might actually be worthy of being my sidekick.'

Freak felt a strange surge of pride. He had never been praised like that before, not even by the teachers at school. It felt… good.

'Alright scratch that, you're still fucked up. Never been praised? Tell it to me straight, are you just fucking with me? Think it's funny to fuck with the million-year-old being, do ya? Ha ha. Just for that, I'm not going to be gentle. So be ready, this'll hurt.'

As soon as the voice said that a huge burst of pain hit Freak. It wasn't as intense as with that portkey, but it was the same kind of pain, a kind he couldn't hide from.

'Uhm. Wow. Yeah, sorry about that. I guess, for all of that. I didn't realize… Yeah. I really wish I could just go through your memories right now, but you might not like that… and I really don't want my sidekick to hate me, it makes my job much harder.'

'Um, thanks?' Freak thought hesitantly. It still felt weird to talk to himself, or whatever the thing in his head was.

'Yeah, I got a lot of questions, and I'm sure you do too, but that old guy's coming back. We need time, and I'm guessing from the wands everywhere he's a wandmaker, so just go with this.'

A brief burst of color appeared in front of Freak, and a wand appeared in Freak's hand. It was a beautiful thing, engraved with all sorts of runes and had streaks of gold seemingly ingrained in the wood.

Ollivander emerged from behind one of the shelves. "There you are, my boy! I must be getting old, getting lost in my own shop. Ah, what's that there? You found a wand? Strange, I don't remember that one…"

'Oh shit.'

Freak heard the voice quietly swear in his head, and felt a surge of power from his hand, along with a sharp stab of pain. Ollivander donned a dazed expression, but it quickly vanished to be replaced by a kindly smile.

"I'm sure whoever sent you in here is looking for you, and I dare say we spent quite a bit more time than normal. Follow me now, I'll take you back to the alley." Ollivander turned and started to lead Freak through the maze of shelves.

'You owe me one.' The voice said smugly. 'That old guy was gonna get real suspicious real fast. Also what the hell was that appearing-in-the-middle-of-a-shop prank? I mean, it was cool, but the old guy was going to blab about it to some guy named Albus, and from what I saw he's not a dude we should mess with. That guy's used some mind control spell on Ollivander here at least twice, and these are only the ones he didn't bother to erase the memory of.'

Freak frowned. 'I thought you didn't break into other people's minds?' He asked.

'Na, I just won't break into yours. Trust and all that, plus I sorta owe you for bringing me back. That old guy, however, I don't owe shit, and I thought he had information we might need. I was already implanting a memory of my wand, and taking away those of your entrance. Why not do a little digging while I'm at it?'

Freak continued to frown. 'I still don't like it. Please stay out of people's minds, it's one place that no one else should have access to.' Freak thought of his own experiences, and how his mind was his only refuge during these times.

'Only refuge? What do ya mean?'

Freak shot the voice a burst of disapproval.

'Sorry! I can't help it! I live in your head, I hear your thoughts. The ones on the surface anyways. Good job figuring out that emotion thing by the way, it took my last sidekick a few weeks to figure that one out.'

Again Freak felt that strange burst of emotion at being praised. Maybe this voice wasn't so bad.

'Yeah, we really need to talk about that lack of praise/self esteem thing. Also, stop calling me 'Voice'. It's degrading. I need a name… my last master called me Ohnyale, but that's a bit of a mouthful, don't ya think? Hmm…"

'How about Ann? You know, short for annoying.' A laugh rang out in Freak's head.

'So, you actually have a sense of humor! Looks like it's working.'

Freak scrunched up his eyes. 'What's working?'

'Er… well...' The voice said sheepishly. 'Well, I know I said I wouldn't look into your mind, but when I first met you, your mind was a mess. Like, imagine a hurricane that ran into a nuclear bomb. I have no clue how you even managed to think. So, I applied some old magics. It started to… sort out your mind, kind of. Not changing anything, at least not much, but just sorta healing it.'

Freak was torn. His first reaction was to be angry at the voice, but he could feel the sincerity behind the voice's words, and knew he didn't do it to hurt him. 'So you didn't see anything?'

The voice perked up. 'Yeah, nothing at all!'

'Well, I guess it's ok then. Just please don't do it again without my per-'

"MISTER POTTER!" Ollivander screamed. Freak started and quickly looked up. He was standing at the door of Ollivander's shop. "Good lord boy, I've been calling you for five minutes now! I know finding a wand must be an amazing experience for you, but please try to stay with us!"

Freak looked properly cowed. "Sorry sir." Freak quickly made his way out of the shop. He would always remember what he saw next.

Diagon alley was, in fact, an alley. It couldn't be more than 7 feet across, which might seem large, but when you have a huge mass of wizards and witches bustling through it. The prominent feature of the alley was a towering marble building at the end of it. Lining the sides of the alley were shops, each displaying items that Freak could not even begin to place. Everything had a cozy feel to it, except for a dark alley veering off to the left.

'Alright, let's go to that ice cream place, we should be able to talk there. Oh, and let me change what you look like, you're sorta famous here.

A confused look took its place on Freak's face, but he allowed the voice to as it wished.

'Alright, enough of that. I already said, I am not 'The Voice'. So either you give me a name in the next three seconds, or I name myself.'

Freak froze, name something? The only thing he had ever named was a spider in his cupboard, but it had died within a week.

'Cupboard? You know what, I don't care. We'll talk later. Anyways, since you seem inept, I'll name myself. Call me Grant.'

Freak raised an eyebrow. 'Grant? Why Grant? Wouldn't you want something a bit more… mystic?'

'You lost your chance, you get no say. As for why, I followed a guy around in New York for a while named Grant. Great guy, nice, helped homeless kittens, donated to charity, the whole shabang. Shame he died though, shouldn't have gotten involved with the gangs.'

Freak, who had only just started move again, froze again, much to the displeasure of the group of witches behind him. 'New York? Gangs? Kittens?'

'Don't think too hard, kid, I'll explain it all once we get to the ice cream place. And you should start moving again, those witches behind you look ready to kill.'

Freak hastily started walking again, and soon found himself sitting in a corner of a brightly colored ice cream shop. The name displayed at the entrance was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, but freak thought that to be quite a mouthful, so ice cream shop it was.

'So, down to business. How about, instead of both of us just overloading the other with questions, we go one at a time. You ask one, I ask one.'

'Alright, I guess.' Freak thought. He contemplated his question for a few moments, then asked 'What was that thing you did to my mind? You said you fixed it, what was wrong?'

'Well, I may have been a bit dishonest there.' Grant said. 'Well, I did fix your mind, and I'll get to what was wrong with it in a second. First, I basically used a few spells I've picked up while floating around, and used a few on you. The first few were basically designed to rebuild your mind from the ground up. It's complex, but the basics of how it works is it takes all of your memories and recreates your mind, meaning it re-dos everything you've thought since you were born. The benefit is it removes any mental scarring or trauma related to that memory. For example, lets say a dog bit you when you were young, and you were afraid of dogs from that point on. With this spell you would remember everything that you normally would about the dog bite, the pain, the fear, whatever. What you don't retain is the fear of dogs. It's much more complex. of course, but that's the simplest terms I can put it in.'

'I also threw in a few knowledge spells. These basically copy knowledge of spells I have, and puts it you. It's not perfect, as I only have muscle memories for the few my previous masters used, meaning you'll still have to practice to get the movements and how much magic you use right, but you won't have to learn how to cast the spell, if that makes sense.'

'Wow.' Freak thought. 'That's… amazing. But how does the mind healing thing interact with my current mind? Shouldn't I be feeling something if my mind was removed?'

'Uh uh uh! It's not your turn for questions!' Grant said in a pseudo-strict voice. 'But because I, Grant, the most benevolent entity ever to exist, feel giving, I'll answer you. But I get two questions next.'

'The spell doesn't replace your mind instantly. It actually grows the new mind separately, usually stored in a special pensive. You know what a pensive is, right?'  
Freak shook his head.

Laughter rang out through Freak's head. 'You look so crazy right now! Muttering to yourself, shaking your head, people are starting to stare!'

Freak blushed and tried to sink down into his seat.

'Anyways' Grant said, pulling himself together. 'A pensive is, currently, a device used to view memories. It has a lot more uses, but the current age forgot most of them. I was hoping the knowledge spell would have gotten to it by now, but it seems to be going a bit slow. Probably because of the whole reconstruction of the mind thing, I can't boost it with my full power.'

'The pensive was used to hold the new mind. The current pensives couldn't handle this, and would probably explode, but these pensives were awesome. Made from the bark of some ancient tree or some shit. The mind is usually grown there, but since I, Grant, the awesomest of beings in this realm, am the one performing the spell, I can keep it in a sort of extradimensional space modified to hold it. It takes a lot of magic, but this alley is on top of three ley lines, so I have a good amount of magic to draw on. I'm also increasing the rate at which it grows, since it would normally take a few weeks. As to why you don't feel it, I modified the spell a bit. Instead of being transferred all at once, I'm changing it bit by bit. Again, takes more magic, so we won't be able to leave here for a little while, but it's faster.'

'If you were an accomplished occlumens, you would be able to feel the transfer, memory by memory. And no, I see none of them. I'm also keeping your old mind in a storage place I have. It's much easier to store a mind than to make one.'

'Now for my questions.' Grant said in a serious voice. 'Question one: Why do you call yourself Freak? Your name is Harry James Potter, Heir to the Potter family and all the possessions of it.'

Freak looked confused. His name was Harry? No, his name was Freak. Freak is what he's always been called, Freak was him. He was not Harry, he was Freak.

'That's not an answer, I'd like a - GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!'

The sudden rage in his head made freak cringe, and he prepared for the worst. Every time shouting like this happened, Freak usually had a bad time.

'WHO! THE! FUCK! WHO THE FUCK DID THIS TO YOUR FUCKING MIND! WHAT FUCKING DIPSHIT THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO DO THIS TO A CHILD'S MIND! WHEN I FIND THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO DID THIS I'M GOING TO RIP HIS BALLS OUT THROUGH HIS MOUTH!'

The rant went on for a while until Grant finally calmed down. Oddly, instead of feeling fear, Freak was happy for this rage. It wasn't directed towards him, in fact it was because of him, because someone cared. Freak felt absurdly happy at the thought.

'AND I CAN'T EVEN REMOVE IT! God damn it, it's linked to a physical location. Can't take it off without taking out the stone there. I would guess it would be his house, it would have to be some place he spent a lot of time. God, whenever I found out who did this he's going to wish he was never born…'

'What… what was it?' Freak asked hesitantly. He was glad someone cared about him this much, but it was a bit disconcerting to not know the reason for the rage.

'Nothing. Well, not nothing. Something. A big something. Sorry, I really wish I could tell you, but whoever did this might have put some trigger in case you learn about it. But I promise, I will fix this as soon as the mind spells are over. If I leave before that the spell would go to hell.'

After a few seconds Grant asked his next question. 'Alright, next question. Your scars. Where the hell did you get those? I assumed they were from epic battles, and I REALLY hope that's what their from, but it's not, is it?'

Freak hesitated. He'd never told anyone about this. Could Grant be trusted? He's only helped so far, even if he was a bit vulgar. Making his decision, Freak steeled himself, expecting a huge outburst next. 'My.. my uncle and aunt… they… well, they hit me I guess.'

A horrible silence came next. Horrible for Freak because it only fed his doubts, did Grant hate him now? Did he think he was weak because he let this happen to him?

For Grant it was a much larger battle. He was currently working at not destroying all of Diagon Alley. These people, they had done this to him. The boy looked like he was mauled by a pack of fucking hippogriffs. People, his relatives, did this to Harry. His Harry. Oh yes, someone will pay. Someone will definitely pay.

Grant said, in a cold voice, 'Go through that door.'

Freak started, the silence broken. He looked around and saw a door appear on a wall close to him. He seemed to be the only one to notice it.

'Please.' Grant said, in a strained voice. 'Hurry.'

Sensing the stress in his friend's voice, Freak rushed through the door. He found himself on a large hill. All around him was trees, trees as far as the eye could see.

'Please close your eyes.' Grant said, his voice even more strained, sounding like he might break at any moment. 'Do not open them, no matter what you hear.'  
Slowly Freak closed his eyes. As soon as his world was dark, the explosions started. It sounded like the sky was falling, the light from them going through his eyelids and burning his eyes. If his eyes were open, Freak had no doubt he'd be blind.

After about ten minutes, by Freak's count, the explosions slowed to a stop. Grant's quiet voice came to Freak's mind. 'You can open your eyes now, I'll take the charms off.'

Freak opened his eyes and gasped. The land around him, where once was a huge forest, was now a wasteland. There was the occasional charred tree standing, but other than that all he could see was gray ground, nothing to indicate that life had ever graced this place.

'I'm sorry, but I was angry. Very, very angry. What they did to you… I can't comprehend how someone could do that. My kind don't reproduce in the traditional sense, as we are beings made of magic. I'll explain more later, but basically we just come to be. No one's sure how, it just happens.'

'When someone new joins us, they are assigned a pair of mentors. The pair, who must be proven to work well together, show the new entity the ropes, so to speak. It's like parents to you. If any of us ever dared to harm one of our own… The consequences would be unimaginable. I can only remember one incident, and that was between two consenting adults. Violence within our race, even with consent, is punishable by banishment. In this case, one was banished, and the other fell in combat. Both were excommunicated, cast from us, with no chance to reincarnate. It is the worst fate imaginable. If that happened between a mentor and a child, I just can't imagine.'

'So you can see why, hurting ones young is… bad. I… I just got angry. I'm sorry. By the way, you may wonder how I'm so strong. This room isn't… Real, I guess you could say. It's an alternate dimension I made a long time ago, for training. I control the rules of this universe, which means infinite magic. I haven't used it for something like this before, but… I was close. I've never gotten that close to losing control before. I almost blew up that alley. Hell, I almost overloaded the fey lines, which would have destroyed London. Oh, I am in such deep shit.'

'Anyways, I guess it's your turn for a question. But let's go back first, shall we? I'm too tired to explode again.'

Freak, with Grant in his mind, traveled back out the door they came in. Freak was surprised to see that no time had passed at all.

'Yeah, there's time compression in there. Dead useful, that is. It works on a roughly 1000 to 1 scale, meaning 1000 seconds in there is 1 second out here. You also don't age any faster, meaning even if you're in there for 1000 seconds you would only age 1 second out here.'

'Wow.' Freak thought. The possibilities for that, he could have time away from everyone.  
'So, whatcha got next?'

Freak thought for a second. 'Uhm… What are you?'

'Ah! There it is! The million dollar question!' Grant said jovially. 'I, little boy, am an entity from another realm called the Ether, and I am solely composed of magic. To explain this, I should tell you about the basics of magic. Most wizards now don't think too hard about it, in fact they've regressed quite dramatically from what wizards, say, 300 years ago knew. Currently all that they know is "Move stick, say word, make stuff happen". I'm actually really surprised no wizard has tried to look deeper into magic than that. Well, those raised in the wizarding world I can understand, they're raised just knowing it, so why would they ask why? But the muggleborns, I would have expected someone to look deeper into it. Muggles have scientists, people who are always looking for why things work. You'd think someone with that mindset would have become a wizard, but nope. No one wants to see why things work.'

'To understand me, you have to understand magic, at least on some level. First thing about magic, it doesn't just appear. Well, it does, but it doesn't come from nothing. All beings that could be referred to as magical actually produce magic, they are the reason magic exists. Even the oldest guys in the Ether don't really understand it. Anyways, they produce magic. How does something become magical in the first place, you might ask. Well, think of magic like radiation. I know you know what that is, I already gave you that knowledge. Basically, being around magic changes you, like radiation. It changes your genetic makeup. So, theoretically anything can become magic.'

'Being in close proximity to magic is one of the two ways to become magical. The other is to have an already magical being change you. The result is usually a stronger magical being than what would have occurred naturally. We know that wizards and witches were the first ones in this plane to become magical, and we think that the wizards made the original magical creatures from there.'

'After the originals are made, magic spreads rapidly. It is like genetics, so it is passed down from generation to generation. The people the wizarding world calls Purebloods are examples of this. They're people who take pride in having an unbroken line of wizarding ancestors. We all think this is hilarious. They consider themselves superior to others. In fact, what they are doing is actively weakening their internal magic. Inheriting magic is only a bit better than getting it by close proximity. The offspring are usually only about 90% magically powerful as their parents. This might not seem too bad, but remember, this has been going on for thousands of years. There are exceptions, which is probably why magic still exists as anything more than parlor tricks. Rarely, probably about 10 times each generation, people from a non magical line are born with magic. This world has people that they call muggle born, people born to parents with no magic, but people truly born to non magical parents are extremely rare. What wizards of this age don't know is that about half the people on earth are magical in one way or another. Wizards have the most prominent magic, but they certainly aren't the only ones with it.'  
'Magic manifests

'Now, you need to understand what I mean when I say magically powerful. All wizards and witches make roughly the same amount of magic. This has never changed, as far as we're aware, even the old mages have been the same. What changes is how much of the power they use. We define magic a magical produces into two categories, ambient and internal. Ambient magic is what you send off into the environment. There are ways to use it, but they're very complex and require years of study. The other kind, internal, is the magic generated that stays within you. This is the magic that most magicals draw on, the one used to produce spells, enchantments, basically everything the magical world knows.

'My kind are, as far as we can tell, a result of ambient magic. We are born, which just means appearing in our realm, tracked down then shown the ropes by our parents. Even we don't really know how it happens, but ambient magic is our best guess.'

'The final thing you have to know is how you guys use us. There are tons of different ways, but I'll focus on the one used to bring me here. When someone wants a powerful artifact, they don't go to an enchanter. Well, they might, but the enchanter couldn't do what the person asks. It would take too much power. The ones they go to are binders. Binders are the people who bind an entity, such as myself, to an object. It's absurdly hard to do, and you have to meditate for years to even attempt it. I don't know much about the magical world in its current state, but as far as I can tell it's a lost art, the goblins are the only ones to do it recently, and that was over a hundred years ago.'

'The basics of binding is you reach into my realm, grab one of us, usually at random, and create a link between us and the item. The grandmasters of the art do much more. They can actually choose, to a degree, which entity to grab, and also actually pull us from the realm, instead of just creating a link. That's what Merlin did to me. Although, even grandmasters barely ever have us retain sentience, usually because we're not too happy to be pulled from our home. As far as I know, only three people have even attempted to do this, and the other two died in the attempt.'

'Usually our powers are bound to the item, and while we can remember what goes on around us, we have no say in how we are used. If we are just linked to the item, it's actually a good thing as it gives us an easy way to monitor the other world. However, whenever we are bound to an object it's annoying as hell, as we are only in the object, so basically put to sleep until the item is broken or unbound. Which can take a while.'

'Anyway, back to me. To summarize, I'm an entity from another realm that was brought here by the most powerful mage ever to live, and now I live in your head. Simple, right?'

Freak just nodded, suffering from an acute case of information overload

'Well, I think we've spent enough time here, time to get going on our other chores. We've still got a lot to do! I'll answer your other questions eventually. For now, we should get a move on.'

Freak nodded again, his head still reeling from everything he'd learned before. A door appeared behind Freak, which he quickly went through.

'Next stop, Gringotts.'

**A/N So. This chapter was meant to be longer, but I don't want it too long, so here it ends. More explaining next chapter, as well as a bit of action. Again, please tell me what I did wrong. Thanks for reading.**


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